


Surviving the Cold

by ali_aliska



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, And Needs a Wakeup Call, Angst, Brief suicidal thoughts, But No Team Cap Bashing, But nothing graphic or explicit, Civil War Team Iron Man, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Tony Stark, Loki & Tony Stark - Freeform, Loki is a Good Bro, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Loki/Tony Stark, Tony Feels, Tony Gets Hurt in Siberia, Tony Gets Worse Before Getting Better, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony has self-esteem issues, Tony's POV, Tony's Self-Destructive Tendencies, Tony-centric, emotional breakdown, in his own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ali_aliska/pseuds/ali_aliska
Summary: It takes 20 hours to rescue Tony after the confrontation in Siberia. Between the fight, the frostbite, and the hypothermia, the doctors tell him he's lucky to be alive and in one piece, but all Tony can register is the fact that he may never be able to use his hands again. He's at the end of his rope and there's only so much a man can handle.It may take an otherworldly visitor to set him back on the right path.





	Surviving the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Civil War, with a focus on Tony's experience and subsequent breakdown after the fight and what I wish would happen once the dust settles. This one got away from me and ended up being more of a conduit for all of my Civil War feelings (and I have plenty). I'm firmly Team Iron Man, but there is no explicit Team Cap bashing here (but it is in Tony's POV, which isn't all rosy either). And I'm all for Tony being a bad ass and moving on with his life post-Civil War, but I also love hurt Tony, so... that's how fics like these are born, haha. 
> 
> Angsty in the beginning, as everything finally comes crashing down on Tony, but I would never leave him without hope. The Loki/Tony aspect didn't quite get into relationship territory, but may be there's hope for that too!
> 
> Also, I realize this has some similarities to the movie plot of another goateed superhero, but somehow, it didn't even dawn on me until I was finished with this prompt. Ah well.
> 
> Written for a personal writing challenge for "FrostIron" and "Formal Wear" prompts.

The trip from the underground garage, where the driver dropped him off, to the elevator that’ll bring him up to the compound, takes much longer than it should and leaves Tony winded and exhausted. He has to pause for a minute before getting into the elevator, trying to get some air into his lungs and failing, every breath feeling like needles tearing through his chest. A small voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Pepper, reprimands him, tells him that this is what happens to people who sign themselves out against medical advise and leave hospitals when they haven’t sufficiently recovered from their injuries. Another voice, this one definitely his own, counters with a rather defeatist comment that his were the types of injuries he might never recover from.

It has been roughly three days since he was found in the Siberian bunker by a team of military agents, led by Vision. As soon as Friday lost contact with him (which must have been right around the time a shield was rammed into his chest), she notified the android, who immediately approached the Accords Council and demanded approval to stage a rescue mission. Vision later told Tony that the committee was reluctant at first, wary of sending their agents into Russian territory. Surprisingly, it was Ross who ended up being the deciding affirmative vote. Tony wasn’t foolish enough to think he voted “yes” from the goodness of his heart. No, Tony was certain the only reason Ross allowed the rescue was to have the chance to punish Tony personally for what went down with the other Avengers.

As soon as he had the go-ahead, Vision and the several men assigned to him rushed to the last known location provided by Friday. Despite the android’s best efforts, it took them roughly 20 hours to find Tony. 

Tony knew that he must’ve made one hell of a picture, lying there like a frozen corpse in the middle of the bunker. The suit short-circuited soon after Rogers rammed his shield into the chest of the armor. The blow from the shield was so strong that Tony knew, if he still had his arc reactor, he would’ve been dead on impact. In this case, however, the hit just disabled the suit. Unfortunately, the strength and the durability of the suit, the things that made it so great for combat, were major disadvantages in this state. Stuck in an immobile suit and too severely injured to try to get out of it, Tony had no choice but to remain where he was, lying on the cold floor. After several hours and still no connection to Friday, Tony knew that the possibility of him dying alone in this abandoned bunker was high and climbing higher with each hour. The bunker itself provided little insulation from the sub-zero temperatures outside and at this point, the suit was nothing more than a metal cocoon and did very little to protect Tony’s body from the cold. If fact, after several more hours, the metal of the suit, cooled considerably by the Siberian air, became a hazard in and of itself as Tony could feel the freezing metal do even further damage to his exposed skin.

With nothing else to do but think as the time passed, Tony’s mind was split between reliving the video of his parents dying, the look on Steve’s face as he rammed his shield into his chest, and the indifferent, almost clinical cataloguing of the progression of the frostbite. First, Tony’s extremities were freezing cold, then came the prickling, burning sensation, before finally his hands and feet succumbed to numbness. Without the face plate, Tony’s nose and cheeks were exposed as well and Tony remembers thinking to himself, almost hystecailly, as he felt his face slowly go numb, that he wouldn’t be doing any modeling any time soon. 

Looking back, Tony guesses that it must have taken about 7 or 8 hours for his mind have gone almost completely delirious, whether from the cold, the injuries, or the isolation (or some combination of all three). He remembers very little from those hours of delirium, his thoughts jumbled and unclear, but as everything around him was turning dark and he was beginning to lose consciousness, Tony does remember thinking to himself, desperate and hopeless, that he always knew that he would die alone.

His next conscious moment was filled with the smell of antiseptic and the cacophony of computerized beeping - the tell-tale signs of being in a hospital, a position Tony was intimately familiar with, given his track record. He woke up to see Vision, bless his heart, sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair next to the bed, reading some book about peach farming, of all the things. The worry and then stark relief upon seeing Tony wake up looked out of place on the android’s usually aloof face. 

The damage done to Tony’s body was extensive, but unsurprising. Several broken ribs, multiple cuts and bruises, and extensive damage to the integrity of his chest cavity (given its already fragile state from the numerous reconstructions post-arc reactor removal). Severe frost-bite in his feet and hands, as well as damage to his face (as he suspected). On top of it all, he was nursing a rather nasty case of opportunistic pneumonia, which took advantage of his weak immune system, compromised by the hypothermia. 

The doctors overseeing his care were very eager to inform him that he was _lucky_. Given the amount of time he spent in the cold and the extent of his frostbite, it was a miracle that they were able to avoid amputation. Their cheerful delivery made things worse somehow, given that, they followed it by informing him that unfortunately, the frostbite did do damage, to his hands more than anything else, and there may be a very good chance that his fingers and palms would remain at least partially numb for the rest of his life. Tony thought it was odd, that in that moment, when the doctors were informing him of his situation, he was emotionally numb as well. He knew he may never be able to use his hands again, but he felt nothing. It was the shock, he acknowledged clinically, and it was inevitable that the grief would come later.

As soon as he was awake and connected back to the world via a Starkphone provided by the ever helpful Vision, he was bombarded with requests for debriefing from the Council, threatening calls from Ross, innumerable queries from various media outlets, and an avalanche of social media alerts, all related to the deconstruction of the events the world at large had dubbed the “Civil War”. Tony hated that name with a vengeance. 

Despite needing much more time to make any sort of physical recovery, three days was all Tony could handle of being stuck in the hospital and if he had to deal with the press, with the Council, and with Ross, he rather not do it from a hospital bed. So, after telling Vision to leave and get some rest, because he was _just fine, thank you_ , Tony gathered whatever strength he had, changed into the clothes Vision had brought earlier, and despite the protests from the nurse and the disapproval from the doctor, he exited the premises with nothing more than an “I’m outta here” thrown at the hospital staff. 

Fortunately, Friday had one of the Stark Industry drivers pick him up at the hospital and drive him to the Avengers compound. Like most SI employees, this one was thankfully familiar with the downright bizarre life of his employer and asked no questions. Tony spent the drive in silence, feeling his body grow more tired and the pain increase as the narcotics given by the doctors were slowly wearing off.

And now, here he is, in front of the elevator, in the place that he once called home. God, it feels like ages since the last time he was here, with the whole team. Swallowing back the bitter memories, Tony gets into the elevator and pushes the button that will get him to the living quarters. All he wants is to collapse in his own bed and sleep this off like a bad hangover.

Unfortunately, like most of Tony’s good intentions, this one does not pan out. He does manage to get himself into bed, but sleep never comes. He spends hours lying in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. With no painkillers left in his system, his whole body is aching and sore, with the exception of his hands, the numbness a constant reminder that Tony desperately tries to ignore. No, if he thinks about it now, if he accepts the reality that he might lose his hands, he’s going to break.

Instead, his treacherous mind forces him to relive in vivid technicolor the events that lead up this moment. The arguments over the Accords, the fight in Germany, the Raft, and finally the Bunker. Each junction point filled with potential “What if”s and “I should’ve”s. 

After several hours of being in pain and finding absolutely no rest, Tony decides his time is better spent doing literally anything else. Still in his rumpled t-shirt and jeans given to him by Vision, Tony makes his way over to the common area, the place where the Avengers usually took their meals, enjoyed movie nights, and generally passed their downtime between missions. Almost as soon as he enters the space, however, Tony realizes that it’s a mistake. Every nook and cranny of the place is a reminder of what has been lost. Steve’s stupid sketch book is still on the counter at the breakfast nook, a pencil lying next to it. Natasha’s unfinished cup of tea is sitting on the stand next to her designated, oversized recliner. The book she was reading just days ago, some fiction novel about space travel and romance, still lays open on the seat. There’s a lump in Tony’s throat and seeing these reminders _just hurts_. 

The Avengers, as haphazardly thrown together as they were in the beginning, were the closest thing Tony had to a family. Sure, they had their differences, but for the first time in his life, there was now a group of people who had his back, who were willing to fight alongside him. There were people who _cared_. 

Tony really should’ve known better. After a lifetime of betrayals by people he once considered family, he really should’ve seen this whole disaster coming. Unfortunately, some part of Tony was a foolish optimist who ignored all the signs, especially during and after the Ultron fiasco, and still _hoped_ that his family would stand beside him. God, he was an idiot. 

Standing there, in the place he would’ve proudly declared home just weeks ago, Tony finally lets himself acknowledge the situation he is in. The people he considered family betrayed him. Stabbed him in the back, spit on his good intentions, and declared him the enemy. A part of Tony is angry, so angry, but the other part feels the oncoming wave of guilt. Because what if they’re right? Tony is no good, he’s tainted by something inherently bad, because what other explanation is there? His own father saw him as nothing more than a “creation”, brave Yinsen died because of him, _so many people died because of him_. Oh god, JARVIS, he’s gone too because of Tony’s mistakes. And Pepper, dear sweet Pepper, even she couldn’t stay with him, despite her patience and inherent goodness. 

And here Tony barely holds back a sob because even the people who stood by him were worse off for it in the end. Vision was left heartbroken and ridden with guilt, two emotions that Tony wished he could spare him from ever experiencing. And oh god, _Rhodey_. His best friend, the ying to his yang, his partner in crime for so many years. Rhodey stood by him, for better or worse, but that loyalty cost him dearly in the end.

_I’m sorry, Rhodey, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I fucked up and you suffered because it._

Looking down at his hands, seeing the damaged skin, Tony finally accepts the fact that he lost his greatest tools. He is _useless_. He can’t even begin to work on prosthetics to help Rhodey, he can’t work on the hardware needed to upgrade Friday. God, he can’t even be Iron Man with his hands just useless lumps of flesh. 

The single tear rolling down his cheeks make him feel pathetic. Unable to look at his hands any longer, Tony’s gaze instead focuses on the cupboards in the kitchen area. He knows that behind the various snacks and food stuffs, there is a hidden bottle of whiskey that he stashed away quite a while ago. His attempts to quit drinking and be healthier have been largely successful in the past few years, due primarily to the support of the team. However, once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, and Tony hid this particular bottle away for a “rainy day” just to give himself some comfort of mind. 

_Well, this is a fucking tropical monsoon._

Making the decision, Tony makes his way into the kitchen. Knowing that she would disapprove and try to stop him, he uses an override protocol to shut Friday down. Next step is finding the bottle, as well as the first random glass he sees on the counter (he doesn’t even care that he’s about to pour expensive as hell alcohol into a cheap glass that has a cartoon version of the Hulk on it). It takes him several attempts to open the bottle, with his hands clumsy and uncooperative, but he finally succeeds. Tony can feel his whole body vibrate with excitement as he pours the alcohol and the logical part of him knows that this is a mistake, that the alcohol won’t solve a single one of his problems. But he’s an addict and he’s at the end of his rope and the burn of the alcohol down his throat as he takes the first drink is the first pleasant sensation he’s felt in what feels like years.

Tony gulps the first glass down in record time. With both the second full glass and the bottle in hand, he makes his way back to the living room area. The alcohol is steadily making its way through his body and his head, but instead of mellowing him out, it brings about a surge of anger. Seeing the sketchbook and the mug of tea this time around doesn’t bring back a feeling of nostalgia or guilt. No, this time Tony is reminded that these people pretended to be his family, used his money and resources, took everything he willingly gave them, and then stabbed him in the back. 

The rage is almost blinding in that moment and Tony has just enough foresight to put his precious alcohol down before he strides over to the recliner, grabs the mug and hurls the damn thing against the nearest wall. The shattering of the glass is music to his ears and he attacks the book next. Pages scatter around him on the floor and the book ends up being thrown carelessly out of the living room and into the kitchen. Steve’s sketchbook is next. Tony takes a vicious pleasure in tearing it apart, page by page. To completely destroy this particular reminder of a life once lived, Tony finds a set of matches in one of the kitchen drawers, dumps all the pages in the sink and sets them on fire. The heat of the fire reminds him that there’s more alcohol waiting to be consumed and Tony doesn’t hesitate.

What follows is an hour long rampage, as Tony, fueled by liquor, anger and grief, tears apart the entirety of the common area. Every piece of glass, whether plates, cups, or the decorative salt and pepper shakers shaped like tiny hawks that Clint brought back from one of his missions, it all ends up shattered on the floor. The stand by the enormous television and entertainment center, filled with books, movies and games, all selected by the various Avengers, is overturned, with all of its contents spilled out and destroyed. Tony doesn’t leave a piece of furniture or decoration untouched. He’s driven by some twisted logic that if he destroys everything that reminds him of his failures, of all that he’s lost, then may be some part of him will begin to feel better.

However, standing there in the middle of the destruction, knuckles bleeding and small cuts from the shattered glass littering his hands and arms, Tony doesn’t feel better. Physically, he’s drunk and already feeling sick from drinking a nearly full bottle of liquor on an empty stomach. Emotionally, the grief and the hopelessness inside him continue their onslaught and he feels the traitorous tears coming back once again. 

_See, Tony, this is what you do. You destroy everything around you._

Grabbing the now nearly empty bottle, Tony walks over to the closest wall and giving no regard to the various pieces of glass on the floor, slides down and slumps against it. He sobs once, before bringing the bottle to his lips and draining the remainder of the liquid inside. In that moment, sitting in the middle of this disaster (god, _his whole life is a disaster_ ), Tony hopes that may be he could just stay there, in that spot, and quietly waste away. May be his liver could just give out and the rest of his body would follow suit. The world didn’t need him. He wasn’t particularly loved or wanted before this, but now, his one real way to fix things was gone. Rhodey might never walk again because of him, Vision might never smile, and the world is really no better off because of the Accords. Hell, Tony was sure Ross would take full advantage of this situation and make the future lives of superheroes even worse. 

So yes, it’s obvious the world would be better off without him. No matter what his intentions may be, he fucked up everything he touched. God, he should’ve just died in that bunker, cold and alone.

_It’s no more than I deserve._

As his head is pounding from the alcohol and the stress, Tony closes his eyes and lets that thought wash over him again and again.

_This pain, this grief, this is what I deserve._

“You know, I was going to ask about that drink, Stark, but it seems there is none left for me to indulge in.”  

Tony startles, eyes open wide, as the voice, so familiar in its smugness, cuts through the silence. Loki is standing mere feet in front of him, hands on his hips and posture relaxed and at ease. He’s wearing the same suit and scarf ensemble that he wore in Germany when they first met and the first thought that runs through Tony’s head when he sees him is bizarrely that Loki looks out of place, almost obscenely so, standing there in his immaculate formal attire among the remains of the destroyed common room. The second thought in Tony’s head is that yup, he is definitely going to die tonight after all.

“Should’ve known you weren’t really dead,” Tony mumbles out instead. “You’re not the type of guy to go down easily.”

The other man (the _demigod_ ) smirks down at Tony and cocks his head to the side. “Yes, well, I thought the same thing about you, Stark, and yet, here you are, giving up so easily and wallowing in your self-pity like a pig in its own filth.”

The comment stings more than it should. Tony knows that Loki’s right, hell, he was saying the same exact thing to himself just moments ago, but somehow, coming from Loki, the words rankle the tattered remains of Tony’s pride. He’s about to respond with a sarcastic comment, but the words die on his tongue. What’s the point? He’s exhausted, drunk, and given his physical state, he’s about as weak as a kitten. 

He rolls his eyes instead and looks away. “Whatever… If you’re here to kill me, just do it quick, will ya? And don’t make a—“ Tony pauses and gives the destruction around him a once-over. “Well, I was gonna say, don’t make a mess, but I guess I already beat ya to it.” 

After a few beats of awkward silence, Tony can’t help but look back up at Loki. The man remains standing in the same spot, but his expression has turned a bit more contemplative, as if he’s examining Tony like a particularly fascinating lab specimen. It makes Tony distinctly uncomfortable to be scrutinized like that.

“What?” he can’t help but voice that discomfort.

Finally, Loki speaks up. “Oh, do not mind me, Stark. I am simply admiring the handiwork of your former teammates. Quite remarkable really, how well they can break apart a man… Pull him apart piece by piece and then leave the remains behind, never looking back…” Ignoring Tony’s glaring, he continues, albeit more quietly, “It is always _family_ though, isn’t it, Stark, that can hurt us the most?” 

From the past few years spent around Thor, Tony knows at least some of the history behind what happened with Loki. And while the guy is still a bag full of crazy, it’s obvious that he’s familiar with this particular brand of betrayal. Despite the parallels between them, Tony doesn’t feel like reveling in their similarities.

“You know, if you came here to talk about fucked up families, you’re wasting your time. I’m in no mood to discuss your daddy issues.”

“And I am certainly in no mood to discuss yours, Stark, and yet here we are,” Loki counters and now his expression morphs from thoughtful to angry. “In fact, I came here, seeking the man who once faced me without his armor or his allies, fearless and bold in both word and action. Yet, that man is nowhere to be found. Instead, I find a sniveling, broken mockery of a man, who has lost any bit of courage or determination that he had ever possessed. So, I suppose _I am_ wasting my time here.”

All Tony can do in the face of that declaration is blink stupidly for a few moments. What exactly does Loki even _want_ from him? He didn’t even know the demigod was alive until just a few minutes ago! He voices his confusion, causing the other man to simply roll his eyes. 

“I had hoped you, of all people, would be able to adjust rather quickly to this particular bit of news. Obviously, I was wrong, but…” Loki pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. His expression is determined when he looks back at Tony. “We both know what is out there, Stark. I know that you are well aware of what is coming for Midgard and for the rest of the Nine Realms. Despite our _history_ , it may soon be time for all of us to put aside those differences so that all of us may _live_.” 

In his drunken state, absorbing those words takes a moment, but Tony doesn’t disagree. Loki is right, Tony has seen what lies on the other side of space, in his gut he knows that what is coming for them will be bigger and badder than anything the Earth has ever faced. In large part, this awareness is what drove him to desperate measures - trying to create Ultron to _protect_ the planet. Unfortunately for everyone involved, that good intention went to hell in a hand basket. Given his track record, whatever Tony ends up doing to help the world will just come back to bite them in the ass. And even if he wanted to help, how much use is he without his hands? So why even bother trying? 

“Sorry, Reindeer Games, but I think you guys will just have to deal with the next Big Bad without me,” Tony declares and by the narrowing of Loki’s eyes, the other man doesn’t take kindly to his apathetic attitude. 

“Oh Norns help me, but this is pathetic! The great Man of Iron, giving up so easily? Or may be this is what you have always been?” Loki stalks over to him, eyes flashing in anger. “A wretched, sad excuse of a man? Is that what you really are? How pitiful. I should have killed you when I had the chance, Stark.” 

“I didn’t ask you to come here, pal, and I definitely didn’t order a round of ‘let’s yell at Tony for all his fuck-ups.’ I’m done, okay? Done with the Avengers, done with the world saving. I’m just fucking _done._ ”

Loki closes the distance between them in a second and the world tilts dangerously around Tony, forcing him to push back against the onslaught of nausea, as Loki grabs him by the shirt collar and hauls him to his feet. His back hits the wall as Loki holds him upright, barely any space between them. 

“You do not simply get to _decide_ that you are done, Stark. Not with what is coming for us. Do you understand? I want to live, I want to _survive_ , and even though it pains me to admit it, I need you in order to do so. Midgard will be a key location in the battles to come and out of all the mortals here, you are the least incompetent one I have had the displeasure to encounter. So stop acting like a child, Stark!”

“Loki, I can’t…” At this point, Tony is too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to argue or to trade sarcastic quips back and forth.  “Even if I wanted to... I can’t help you or anyone else… The entire Avengers team is broken, the ones who stayed aren’t in any shape to fight… I got the shit beaten out of me five ways to Sunday and look—“ he raises his hands to show Loki the damaged skin. “I can barely feel my hands, okay? Everything I’ve created, everything I’ve built, I did with these. And I just _can’t_ …”

His voice shakes over those final words and he hates himself for it, but it’s obvious Loki can see how weak he is, so why even bother hiding it? The glimpse of pity in Loki’s green eyes does rankle though. He has plenty of his own pity to go around, he sure as hell doesn’t need anyone else’s. 

The grip on his shirt collar loosens a bit, but Loki doesn't let go, which is well enough because Tony doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand upright on his own.

“Correct me if I am wrong, Anthony,” Loki retorts, “but isn’t it your head,” here, he taps the finger of his free hand against Tony’s temple, “your mind, your _intellect_ that truly makes you the hero that you are? When you were in that cave, surrounded by enemies and lacking adequate tools - did you give up then? Throw a tantrum, destroy everything around you, and then wallow in your grief?”

“It was different—”

“How so? You were betrayed by your own family, your body was irreparably damaged. At a severe disadvantage with no allies in sight… Tell me, Stark, how is this any different?”

“I wasn’t alone… There was a man— he helped me pick up the pieces— to believe that I was worth something…”

Loki lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well, I am certain that I am a poor substitute for this man of yours, but I am here, and I am _all you have_ in this moment. I know you are a survivor, Stark, I _know_ , because I see that part of myself in you. Your own _enemy_ believes that you are capable of more than this - how is that not a confirmation of your own worth?”

Some part of Tony is still drowning in grief and self-pity, but even he has to admit that some of Loki’s words are sinking in, even through the drunken fog. This has definitely been one of the most _absurd_ pep talks he has ever received, but may be it’s the way Loki says what he says, or may be it’s the expression in his eyes - it’s _understanding_ , not pity, now that Tony has had a chance to look a little closer. 

“I— May be you’re onto something there, Rock of Ages… I guess when a god tells you to get yourself together, you gotta listen, huh?” Tony’s still not completely convinced, but he has no strength to argue. 

“Finally, some sense!” Loki quips and then examines Tony’s state more critically. “You are barely able to stand, aren’t you?”

“You’re basically holding me up at this point.” 

Loki closes his eyes for a moment and mutters a quiet "This is not what I had planned for this visit at all." The sigh that escapes his lips next is such familiar mix of part exasperation, part resignation ( _Pepper_ always used to sigh like that), that Tony's heart momentarily skips a beat. There's no time to consider that particular revelation however because Tony's world tilts again as he is picked up, bridal style, as if he weighs next to nothing (stupid strong gods, with their stupid strong arms). The position is downright awkward, not to mention that the nausea is back with a vengeance, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Loki.

“By the Norns, Stark, if you ruin this suit, I _will_ kill you.”

Tony glares at the other man, their faces unnecessarily close to each other. Once again, Tony gives up on a sarcastic retort and, too tired to complain, he just drops his head on Loki’s shoulder and vaguely points to the right.

“My bedroom’s that way.” 

Loki’s huffy “Your insolence will get you killed, Stark” makes Tony smile just a little bit, because he is glad he’s not the only one finding this whole situation _weird as hell_.

The demigod dumps him on his bed unceremoniously, which his nausea does not appreciate in the least. Would it hurt the damn god to be gentle? Tony doesn’t voice that particular frustration though; instead, he just burrows himself into the pillows and comforter, which feel surprisingly more inviting this time around. Whatever logical part of him still remains quietly informs him that it’s because he’s exhausted and drunk as all hell. 

Loki is still standing next to the bed when Tony looks back up. The expression on the god’s face is torn between indignant and amused. 

“Sleep, Stark. And get your house in order. Next time I grace your humble abode with my presence, I expect a much better showing. And I expect you to offer me a drink, like the civilized creature you purport to be. Understood?”

“I’ll try my best, your godliness,” Tony quips back, slurring a little bit. He can feel his brain shutting down, one lobe at a time. Weird, given the fact that he has a known criminal and would be world-conqueror in his bedroom. But his friends are now his enemies, so hell, why can’t his enemy be his friend? Through tired, half-lidded eyes, he sees Loki shake his head.

“No, Stark, do not try. _Do._ You are better than this… Remember that. Show all those who have betrayed you that men like us are not so easily beaten. _You are better than them._ ”

Tony closes his eyes and it is those last words that flow over him and soak into his very being. He feels a gentle touch just above his brow, and then he lets go and finally lets himself sleep.

***

Glimmers of sunlight filtering through the windows force Tony to squint and roll over onto his stomach, away from the light. Damn, doesn’t Friday usually moderate the shades so that he doesn’t get blinded in the morning?

_Oh, shit, Friday…_

Tony shoots up to a sitting position and the entirety of last night floods back into his head. A lot of the memories are muddy, dulled and distorted by the alcohol, but he remembers enough. He remembers turning off Friday, getting ridiculously drunk, throwing a full blown tantrum and then… the God of Mischief talked him off the ledge and then _carried him to bed_?

_Exactly how much did I drink last night?_

Given the likely possibility that he spent the whole night hallucinating, the answer should be a whole lot, but as Tony examines his current state, the tell-tale signs of a rabid hang-over are nowhere to be found. His head is not pulsing with pain, his limbs don’t feel like they’re going to fall off, and he doesn’t feel like throwing up the entirety of his digestive system. In fact, he feels _better_. Not even close to 100% - his chest still hurts, the various cuts and bruises are still sore, and his hands still feel numb. But the pain is duller, his head is clearer, and of all the unexplainable things, his pneumonia seems to have disappeared. 

Completely baffled, Tony doesn’t have a choice but to get up and survey the building. As he enters the common area, he is faced with what looks like a scene out of a bad tornado movie. Okay, so this wasn’t a hallucination. He did get drunk, went on a rage-fueled bender, and broke everything he could get his hands on. The empty bottle lying in the corner by the wall confirms his suspicions. 

The whole Loki thing, however, still feels like some liquor-induced fantasy and given that he sees absolutely no evidence of it and given the fact that it’s completely implausible that one of his known enemies would just show up and help him, Tony decides to let the whole thing go. 

Loki’s words, however, do not completely go ignored (even if that Loki was some kind of bizarre manifestation of Tony’s psyche). Tony still feels a weight on his chest and every time he thinks about the rogue Avengers, or even worse, the Avengers that remained, that weight threatens to choke him. But may be today, it’s just a little bit lighter. There’s some small glimmer of hope. Tony acknowledges to himself that there are still things he can do. He may have lost his hands, but dammit, hallucination Loki was right! He still has his brain and he’s not going to take himself out of the fight until he’s done everything he is capable of doing. Making sure Rhodey gets the best possible care money can buy? That doesn't require his hands. Helping Vision get through his heartbreak and grief? Tony could at the very least try. And it certainly didn’t require delicate handwork to hire a shitton of lawyers and fight for a fair and reasonable set of Accords. Hell, may be, if he’s super lucky, he might even be able to put Ross away for a very long time. He’s certainly going to try his best. 

_No, Stark, do not try. Do._

That’s right, Tony decides, suddenly more clear headed and determined than he’s been in months, he has to do more than just try. He’s not going anywhere yet. May be someday, when he’s done all he can for the people he loves, for the whole world, he can decide if it’s worth continuing this fight. But until then, he has work to do.

“Friday, darling, let’s get you back online.”

***

It has been almost a month, Tony realizes, since his emotional _moment_ (he refuses to call it a break-down) in the Avengers common room. He’s currently situated in one of his labs in the Stark Industries headquarters in New York, working on prototypes for Rhodey’s leg braces. Despite the fact that he won’t be able to build these himself, Tony knows there’s no reason he can’t design them and then find the most competent expert in robotics and neuroscience (other than himself of course) to assemble the braces. 

After some discussion with both Rhodey and Vision, the three decided that moving into the SI headquarters was the best choice for all of them. There was plenty of living space, as well as labs and training rooms, the location was close enough to D.C. for the frequent Accords meetings, and it still provided all three men with a change of scenery, away from any and all reminders of the past. 

Tony finishes adjusting all the relevant inputs to the holographic design in front of him and while the computer takes time to recalculate the model with the new parameters, the man decides a coffee break is in order. With a warm mug of cappuccino in his hands (he has to hang on to the mug with both hands to avoid losing his grip), Tony contemplates the progress made in the past several weeks. Said progress, unfortunately, has been moving at a snail’s pace, which is annoying, but not unexpected. As much as Tony wishes it weren't true, nothing gets done overnight, especially not when the government and lawyers are involved.

However, there is a new draft of the Accords currently in review and Tony is pretty satisfied with the new set of revisions. He knows it’s not perfect, not by a long shot, but the Accords are a long game, and Tony is determined to have enough patience to see them through. There’s a way to balance protecting the public and protecting the superheroes, he knows there is, and he’s determined to find that balance. Unfortunately, Ross is still a giant thorn in his side, but for now, Tony’s willing to deal with the threats and the sneers, not to mention the attempts to undercut him at every turn. Friday is currently helping him gather evidence against Ross, both from their interactions during the “Civil War” and before, from his dealings with Bruce. He just needs to find enough evidence to convict the bastard. Even if it doesn’t stick and he avoids jail, it’s very unlikely that Ross would remain on the Accords Council.

One step at a time though, or at least that’s what his therapist tells him. Despite numerous protests on his part, Tony ended up getting both himself and Rhodey into several forms of physical and mental therapy (Rhodey, the evil man that he is, refused to get help unless Tony did too, so of course Tony was left with no choice at all). Whether the counseling actually helped is still left to be determined, but even Tony has to admit that it’s nice having someone to talk to (disregarding the fact that he’s paying that person an ungodly amount of money to listen). They haven’t tackled the issue of his hands yet, but he knows it’s coming. Acceptance of his circumstances and all that feel-good mumbo jumbo. Tony is not looking forward to that.

“Um… Boss?” Friday’s voice interrupts Tony’s train of thought. Her usually calm tone is tinged with a hint of panic, so Tony is immediately on alert.

“What’s up, my girl?”

“There’s a package, Boss… It— it just appeared in your bedroom.” 

“What do you mean, just appeared?”

“I’m not certain, Boss. My sensors did not pick up any intruder presence. There was nothing on your night stand until— there was.” Friday sounds confused and a touch nervous, like she’s afraid to disappoint Tony with this less than stellar assessment. A small part of Tony swells with pride every time Friday exhibits these patently human emotions because it means she’s taking one step closer to autonomy; she’s _growing up_. 

Now is not the time to contemplate the sentience of his A.I. however, because Tony has a sneaking suspicion that they may be dealing with magic. Stupid, aggravating magic that refuses to follow the laws of physics and bypasses all of Tony’s top-of-the-line technology like it's child’s play.

Despite Friday’s warning, Tony steps out of the lab and goes up to the floor with their living quarters. It’s probably (definitely) a trap, but curiosity gets the best of him. Friday performs all the scans she can and determines that the contents are partly organic, but contain no known explosives or poisons. That’ll have to do as far as precautions go.

The package sitting on his night stand is a small satchel, made of something resembling dark velvet, although there are green highlights if the light hits it just right. Tony throws caution to the wind, picks up the satchel, and dumps the contents into his hand.

All Tony can do is stare in confusion at the delicate blue flower and a piece of parchment that land on his outstretched hand. Tony is not a flower expert, but this one looks vaguely like a lily, although the bright blue color, intersected with vivid red lines, looks almost otherworldly. He places it carefully on the night stand and focuses on the parchment instead. 

_Parchment, seriously? What are we, in Hogwarts?_

Tony rolls his eyes, but begins to read the elaborate cursive written in green ink.

_Stark,_

_This flower has healing properties. Use it to repair the damage done to your hands. Boil the flower in honey until it is completely dissolved. Let the honey cool, apply the mixture_ _to your hands, and wrap them in cloth. A word of warning, this will be painful. DO NOT unwrap your hands until all the pain has subsided._

_I prefer my allies to be at their best, so do not make me regret this. And because I know you are a self-sacrificing fool - this flower is meant to heal damage done by the cold; it will do your friend no good._

The note is unsigned, but the sender is obvious. Tony sits down on his bed, feeling off-balance, because this little delivery is physical evidence that the encounter with Loki _wasn’t_ just some drunk hallucination and that realization opens up a whole new can of worms. Tony does feel brief disappointment at the last part because Loki's right, his first thought was using this to help Rhodey. But now, all of these thoughts fade away into the background as Tony focuses on the second sentence of the note. _Use it to repair the damage done to your hands._

This is the first sliver of hope Tony has received. All the doctors he’s seen in the past month have told him the same thing - the damage is very likely permanent and he’ll never be able to perform delicate work with his hands again. What if _this_ works though?

Every bit of common sense in Tony’s head is blaring alarms. This is stupid, this is dangerous, this is the most _dangerously stupid_ thing Tony has contemplated in a long time. But he doesn’t care. He grabs the flower and races out of the bedroom.

Thankfully, their kitchen actually has a jar of honey (thank god for Vision's current fascination with tea). Boiling the flower down in his lab doesn't take long - in fact the flower almost _melts_ as soon as the honey heats up. Before he’s able to talk himself out of this monumentally dumbass decision (poor Friday was ordered to stop telling him how risky this was), Tony applies the entirety of the honey mixture (now a light shade of blue) onto his hands. For a few moments, nothing happens and Tony begins to feel stupid, because _of course_ some random flower isn't going to heal him. But in for a penny, as they say. He wraps his left hand with gauze and lets Dum-E help him with wrapping his right. Looking at his now even more useless, wrapped up hands, Tony realizes that he should probably have thought this through further and possibly gotten some outside help. He’s given little time to dwell on that however, because all of the sudden, he’s overcome with some of the worst pain he’s ever experienced (and he’s had a car battery attached to a magnet in the gaping hole of his chest).

He can’t help but sag to his knees on the floor. His hands feel like they’re on fire and his self-preservation instinct begs him to just take the damn gauze off, but he can’t, _he can’t_ , because what if it’s working? 

His desperation overcomes any common sense and he remains on the floor, suffering through continuous waves of pain that feel like acid eating through his skin. 

After several hours, Tony breaks down and asks Friday to contact Vision. The android arrives sooner than anticipated and Tony’s not sure what Friday told him, but he once again hates himself for putting that look of worry on Vision’s face.

Stumbling through his words, Tony mumbles out an explanation, leaving Loki’s name out of it, to which Vision responds with incredulous confusion. Not surprising, because Tony’s story essentially boils down to “Someone sent me a magical healing flower, so I boiled it in honey and put it on my skin. Now everything hurts and my hands are on fire.”

Not one of Tony’s brightest moments, and Vision tells him as much before attempting to convince the other man to take off the gauze and wash off the substance, but Tony’s determined to see this through to the end, for better or worse.

So that’s how they end up on Tony’s ratty couch in the lab, Vision a solid presence next to him, as Tony suffers through the pain. After several more hours, the pain settles into a constant ache and it gives Tony’s mind and body a chance to adjust and acclimate to it, for which he is grateful.

Friday, the traitor, also contacts Rhodey, who shows up sometime around hour four. Seeing his best friend in a wheelchair is always a painful reminder of his guilt, but this time, Tony is almost grateful for his current physical pain because it distracts him just enough to avoid wallowing in said guilt.

Rhodey looks downright angry (it’s obvious Friday informed him of what happened) and Tony is certain there’s a rant building up in the man, something about Tony’s irresponsibility and complete lack of self-preservation. The reprimands never come though, as Rhodey just wheels himself next to Tony and with a warm, solid hand on his knee, begins to recount one of their college adventures, to provide some form of distraction from the pain.

At hour 10, both Vision and Rhodey decide that they’ve done enough waiting and it’s time to take Tony to the hospital and see the extent of the damage. Tony tries to refuse, begging them to wait just a little bit longer, but the two men are adamant. Knowing that he’s outnumbered (and that this whole thing was likely yet another mistake on his part), Tony reluctantly follows Vision and Rhodey out of the lab. Before they can even make it to the elevator, however, Tony collapses to his knees and howls in pain, this time unable to hold back the screams. The pain is so bad, all he can think about is sawing his hands off, just to make it stop. Oh god, this is it, _he’s going to die._ But before his mind completely snaps under the pain, it’s gone as abruptly as it appeared. The switch between the pain and feeling nothing is so jarring, that Tony almost weeps, breathing out a whimpered “It’s gone” to his companions. Unable to move from his spot on floor of the hallway, Tony watches as Vision kneels down and gently asks whether he can remove the bandages. Getting a nod from Tony, the android proceeds in his careful removal, gentle and attentive as can be. 

As the last piece of gauze is gone, Tony examines his hands, not daring to hope. He flexes his fingers carefully and after hesitating for a second, he runs them up and down his jean-clad thighs. This time, there’s no way he can hold back the sob, because he can _feel_. The skin of his hands is still sensitive, but there’s no pain, and he can feel everything. The texture of his jeans, the feel of his fingers as he rubs them together. It's as if the 20 hours in bitter-cold Siberia never even happened.

Tony feels a treacherous tear run down his cheek and at any other point in his life, he would have been ashamed to show this much vulnerability and weakness. But it’s just Rhodey and Vision next to him, two people who stood by him, despite all of his fuck-ups. He knows he’s safe here, so he lets the tear fall as he enjoys the sensation of his healed hands and truly smiles for the first time in months.

***

Six months pass since his miraculous recovery and Tony is very proud that he had avoided any and all further emotional breakdowns (two in less than two months was a record for him and not one he was particularly proud of). Life kept marching on in those six months and with the use of his hands back, Tony felt like a man born-again. Of course, it didn’t fix _everything_ , but it sure as hell made life easier to deal with. It gave Tony _hope_ for the future, and he was grateful for that. 

Unfortunately, the current situation he’s stuck in leaves something to be desired. Yet another fundraiser, another opportunity to feed the egos of politicians and the rich elite in order to garner further support for his cause. Tony has always hated these events, even though, to an outsider, he handles them with almost effortless grace. Every part of him wants to hide somewhere, preferably in his lab, but he needs every possible piece of social and political support at the moment. The Accords are going through yet another round of revisions, but more importantly, Ross is finally on trial, with Tony a key witness. He can’t turn down any piece of goodwill at the moment, even if it comes in the form of sleazy politicians and clueless rich heirs.

One such heiress is currently batting her eyelashes at him and gushing about his charity work. A long time ago, this is the type of woman Tony would’ve taken home for a fun night, but now the superficial flirting is making him nauseous. She seems open to making a large donation though, so Tony endures her inane chatter. Just as he’s about to ask her about said donation, he notices a familiar sight in his peripheral. A head of sleek black hair, attached to that striking black suit and green scarf combo.

As politely as he can, Tony excuses him and chases after the man, who has now disappeared into the crowd. A part of Tony knows that it’s near impossible that it’s Loki (why in the world would Loki be at this charity ball?), but he just has to know for sure.

He finds himself outside on one of the balconies, currently empty. Tony quietly asks Friday (ever present in his ear piece) to disable any surveillance for the moment and notify him if anyone approaches. The man he’s been chasing down is standing next to the balcony railing, a drink in his hand, and facing the view of the gardens down below. Tony clears his throat as he approaches closer and the man in front of him turns around—

Yup, he’d recognize that smug smile everywhere. Loki is looking back at him, casual and relaxed as ever, as he takes a small, leisurely sip of his drink.

“I thought I was supposed to get you that drink,” Tony comments, finally next to the demi-god. The man in question just shrugs noncommittally.

“I’m not known for my patience, Stark.”

“No surprise there, Rock of Ages. So, what’s a guy like you, doing in a place like this? Because last time you were at a fancy function like this, a guy lost an eye.”

Tony knows what he said is true and that he should be cautious around the man. But Loki is the picture of calm in front of him and hell, this is the guy who healed his hands. The least he can do is hear him out before going into fighting mode. His suit is on stand-by, however, so he’s ready if the metaphorical shit hits the fan.

“Germany _was_ a rather rousing bit of fun, wasn’t it?” Loki replies. “Not to worry, Man of Iron, I am not here to cause any trouble. At least, not _that_ kind of trouble,” he adds with a smirk and Tony can’t help but roll his eyes. He knows he needs to get some answers out of the guy though, so he jumps right in.

“Why did you heal me? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful as hell, but that seemed completely out of character for you. Shit, even your first visit was down right bizarre. I spent a month thinking I hallucinated the whole thing!”

The response doesn’t come right away, as Loki takes another sip of his drink and looks out onto the gardens below. When he looks back, his expression is a bit more serious.

“Like I said, Stark, I prefer my allies strong and whole. You are of no use to me if you are not able to function to the best of your abilities.” 

“So that's it, you just need me at 100% for the upcoming fight?”

It’s Loki’s turn to roll his eyes at the question. “Is that not enough, Stark? I already told you, I consider you a potentially valuable ally here on Midgard. Which, I must say, is not a tremendous accolade, given the general frailty of you mortals, but desperate times, as they say.”

“Thanks, Lokes, your confidence in me just warms my heart,” Tony can’t help but sass the demigod, but his next words are more earnest. “Regardless of why you did it, I _am_ thankful. You gave me back my hands, hell, you gave me _hope_ , and that means a lot. I know I should still be hating you for what happened in New York, but none of us can change the past, I suppose. Besides, I have my suspicions about New York too, given that your whole battle plan was seriously incompetent and you don’t seem like the incompetent type of guy. Crazy, yes, not but stupid.”

The subtle widening of Loki’s smile and the knowing glint in his eyes is answer enough. Tony always suspected that there was more to the Battle of New York. Thor would always describe his brother as a master tactician, brilliant when it comes to strategy and manipulation of his opponents. That description stood in stark contrast to what happened during that battle. Tony could easily think of a dozen more effective ways of opening the portal and letting the Chitauri in without bottlenecking them all, and the whole thing with the Hulk? Not subtle at all. Looking back at the battle, Loki’s actions always struck Tony as dysfunctional and set up for failure. Why Loki would knowingly lead his troops to destruction, he didn’t know, but now, aware that there was always a bigger threat looming over them, more of the puzzle pieces slowly fall into place.

Loki obviously follows Tony’s trail of thought. “Do not think me a hero, Stark. I do not care one iota about Midgard or its’ inhabitants. However…” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I have no ambition to rule them either. There is more to that particular battle, you are correct, but I have no desire to divulge such information at the present moment.”

“Fair enough,” Tony shrugs, “but I’d like to know more someday. You know, for _strategic purpose_ s.”

“Of course you would.” Loki’s smile is indulgent as he turns back to observing the view from the balcony and Tony can’t help his huff of laughter at the absurdity of the situation. Here he is, with the God of Mischief, having a civilized discussion. He still doesn’t trust Loki, but hell, he had a bunch of allies he trusted fully, and look how that turned out. No, this was a good change of pace. 

Tony joins him at the banister and they spend a minute or so in silence, watching the horizon get darker as night approaches. 

Tony finally speaks up, voice quiet and more somber than before. “Whatever’s coming for us, it’s going to be really bad, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it will be… It will be the biggest threat any of us have ever faced.” 

“Do we even stand a chance?”

“In all honesty… I do not know.”

“Then why even bother fighting?”

“Because, Stark,” Loki replies and now the full intensity of his gaze is on Tony, “we are _survivors_. We do not give up so easily.” 

Those same words, spoken to him when he was on the brink of giving up, fill Tony with the same sense of determination they did then. 

“Damn straight we don’t. We’re going to be better… _better than all of them._ ”

Because Tony _is_ a survivor, and more importantly, he’s _the mechanic_ and come hell or high water, he’s going to fix the shit out of this. 


End file.
